Stone Circle countdown to doomsday

The standing stones caught her eye from quite a distance. From so far away she thought they must've been some weird trees; her eyes hadn't started to go yet, they weren't as sharp as they used to be but they weren't terrible, so she stared fixedly at the stones placement on the horizon and used them as a guide. Her nose wasn't broken either—she was aware of the pack as she slunk along but feigned indifference, seeking those stones like so many wolves before. The woman didn't quite make it to the ring of stones before she grew tired of her pace and so, it dropped off until she was pausing to rest beneath a nearby tree. Her dark coat, littered with specks of silver and white hairs now, brushed against the narrow tree's gnarled trunk. The woman breathed in the scent of the plains and felt the chill of a little breeze creep through her bones—whether she was contemplating her next move or merely catching her breath, she took her time and appeared to lose interest in the monument.